If you ask for a reason
by 898700
Summary: Things that should not happen but happen anyway. Nice or awful, it doesn’t matter: they make you stop and look around, trying to explain and understand.


**If you ask for a reason**

_Michelangelo_

Things that should not happen but happen anyway; nice or awful, it doesn't matter: they make you stop and look around, trying to explain and understand. I do not like that; it makes you unsure about the truthfulness or wrongness of your beliefs, it makes you question and turn black into white and false into true. It makes things look shady, when you want nothing more than to believe you are part of the solution … a good guy, a light defender.

But then, bam, something happens and doubts appear. And while I don't want them here I know they've taken residence; because now I can't look at Raph anymore without wondering if what happened, if what we allowed to happen …

And how can it be a wrong when it was supposed to be nothing but a right.

**+NT+**

Okay.

There are some truths that can't be denied. Many, actually, but I don't care about most of them. For a while I have believed my personal reality could be resumed in four words: Family, Friendship, Food and Fun. But today I was faced with one truth I've been trying to avoid, and not only because it clashes with my alliteration trend. The thing is that I never though we would have to face it as soon and in such a helpless state.

Death.

Raph is dying and there's nothing we can't do. Donnie said there was a chance, but I can see in his eyes that he does not truly believe it. And when Donnie, our personal miracle maker, looses hope, it means our chances are null. Zero. Nothing. That's why, when Leo joins us on the roofs and tells we will solve it, I act as if I believed it when I really don't. But still there's the crazy wish that maybe, just maybe, Leo is right; because he is stubborn enough to fight barehanded against Death, if she dares trying to retrieve one he loves.

Then, when we are on our way back home just to find ourselves in the middle of a battle, I wonder how far Leo would go to save Raph. The guys Donnie and I fight are easy to beat, yet the one our older brother is facing seems a lot more experienced. But Old Fearless Leader is skilled, isn't him? He's the best of us all. He shouldn't have a problem controlling his opponent.

No problem at all.

**+NT+**

I observe Raph eyes when he wakes up, and there is confusion. Tiredness isn't unexpected, as neither is the barely noticeable pain; and I already know the grogginess he shows is due to the high doses of painkillers Donnie gave him. But confusion is one emotion I don't want there; because then he'll start asking questions no-one wants to answer.

Just as I predicted it occurs, and I was right with what comes next, too: Donnie leaving the room without even glancing at our recovering brother's direction. So Raph can only turn to me with all his doubts, and why can't he notice I already am drowning with my own ones? But even if to run and hide seems the best course of action, I sit by his side and do my best to explain my brother what happened since he closed his eyes.

It was just one day but it feels like a life. In fact, it was a life.

**+NT+**

_Donatello_

When Mickey remains at Raph's side, I can't help but feel relieved. Then I'm shamed for feeling this way, at the same time briefly amazed with the amount of shame I can store in a few hours. Fear and anger are there too, but they are nothing compared with my repulsion over recent event's development.

I return to the kitchen and the table looks clean, but I still can see the blood that was there, smell its tang and feel its sticky texture on my hands. They've been washed once and again, but those stains are not in the surface, and can't be removed with water and soap.

It doesn't prevent me from cleaning both the table and my hands two more times, the second with hot-scolding water. The floor receives the same treatment, as I can remember stepping on bloody patches many times during the procedure. But even if my minds shows me the blood that is not there anymore, I'm grateful since I was not the one who cleaned the real mess the first time.

And I'm shamed again, because is thanks to said blood that Raph is alive, and I should be angrier as this is my brother's fault. But I could have stopped him, I should have known better. We've been living side by side our whole lives, so I should have understood what was to see on his eyes. Yet I refused to acknowledge its mere existence, until it was too late.

Now I share his fault, and it is now my sin.

I am drying my hands, sore and tender from the scrubbing, when somebody enters the kitchen and I can say who it is even when unable to face him. No matter what his appearance is now, my mind will show me the blood that once covered him.

"How is Raph?" he questions, and I turn around, dying to scream at him.

You didn't have to do that, I want to yell; it wasn't necessary. But instead I ponder his question, understanding there's not easy answer. Raph is alive because of what Leo did, isn't him? Was it really such a bad thing to sacrifice a life for another?

Shame is back full force, and I know it would be easier if Leo's eyes weren't so cold. I look at them and he disappears, until we are back outside and the fight has just finished. He and the Foot are sprinkled in a red dark substance, and it is Mickey the one who first reaches his side, but I'm the one who Leo looks at.

Hi eyes are devoid of emotion, and I fear the worst.

"Can you say if he's compatible?" he asks, and I should say he makes no sense, but deep inside I understand why he's asking and there is hope.

"I'll need a sample," I declare, already taking it. And when the man moans and Leo's freezing gaze bores a hole on my soul, I remain silent. He's the one who says the final word most of the times, the one who defends honor the most.

He knows better, so I do what's asked from me.

"Call me when you know," are his final words. He picks the man and disappears in one direction while Mickey and I return to the Lair. We don't question where he goes to, even if a voice inside my head tells me something is wrong. He knows what he's doing, I repeat to myself.

Soon, my call informs him that the man is an AB, as Raph. I should probably proclaim their blood type really doesn't matter, as our sick brother is a universal receptor; but it makes me feel safer seeing as we are already taking a risk, what with being the donor from a different species. The least differences, the better.

However, my words get drowned by the man's pained shrieks on the other side of the line; Leo informs he will appear in ten minutes before hanging up and preventing any interrogation from my part. So I can only wait, and while I do that my mind shuts down yet my body goes thru the motions, preparing the kitchen as an operation room.

When Leo arrives April is already there; Mickey called her earlier, on my request. She helps me with the instructions, and there's no time to waste so I say nothing to Leo. We fight against the odds and the clock, and I only half-acknowledge the fact that the man's moment of demise is giving us a larger time frame, increasing Raph's chances.

When we move to the infirmary, I find myself in front of my Leonardo. He has just finished cleaning the living room and we are giving him more work, leaving our bloodied footprints. Our eyes lock, his and mine. I can't stop, there's no time, but his emptiness breaks the spell and I'm not cheating myself anymore. Then I get into the room, understanding that what happens next will be entirely my decision.

I choose Raph's life; shame on me.

"He woke up," I finally answer, blinking me back to reality. He'll be fine, I wish I could state, but that won't be the truth anymore, not with Mickey telling him everything. I'm not sure how they knew; maybe April talked about the broken neck, maybe my younger brother noticed the Foot was alive when Leo left with him. Maybe it is the fact a man died last night.

Leonardo nods, probably knowing Raph's wrath will fell on him, as well as Splinter's; yet I see no regret, because there's nothing at all. It is not until I start cleaning the table again that he moves, taking the cloth from my grip and leading the way to my room.

He sits beside my bed, waiting for the sleeping pills to take effect, and only when I start to doze off he speaks. "You had no choice, Donatello," he says. "I'm the only responsible."

No, you are not.

"I could have refused," I mumble, fighting the tiredness.

"Then there would be two deaths instead of one."

And I would have blamed myself for that, too; but I'm angry at him, as his words are not anymore as comforting as they once were.

"So you get to choose who lives and who dies," I accuse. He has no answer for that, and there's one more thing I need to know. "The body …"

"They will not find it," he declares after a pause, and I wonder what such a statement means. Did he burned it? Butch it and hid the pieces at different places?

"… the family …" I can't manage to complete it, being more sleep than awake.

That man surely had a family, or friends. They had the right to give him a burial service. They deserve to know for sure of his death; otherwise, they would hope and wait for a return that will never occur.

And only because of our selfishness.

"Don, if he were to be found, the Foot would take it personally."

But it WAS personal! And even then I can understand what Leo is saying: a death is one thing, a mutilated body something completely different. This could probably turn into the beginning of a bloodier war. This way, Leo's way, would at least prevent a massacre from happening.

He seems so rational and I'm feeling so lost, so in need of reassurances, that all my energy is gathered for what we both know has to be asked.

"Did he …" I start and pause, then start again. "Was he dying? Or could he have been saved?"

Leo looks at me, and it might be my tiredness or the lack of lights, but his eyes didn't look as cold and empty anymore. Maybe it was just the fact that I asked if he was a murderer.

"What do you want me to say, Donnie?" he whispers.

"The truth," is my instant reply.

There is one more, lengthy, pause.

"You saw the body, Don. Where the other injuries life-threatening?"

I answer the only thing there is to say. "I can't … remember."

"Ask April tomorrow," he offers, but I say no; there's no way I could talk with her about this day. "He was dying, Don, and suffering. I hurt him pretty badly on the fight."

Now, there's one thing about Leo. We all have killed, it is something that can't be avoided with the enemies we have; but Leo is such a skilled ninja, that one turn of his wrist is a difference of life or death to his opponents.

He only kills when there's no other option.

"You did it on purpose?"

The shaky sigh can almost be confused with a choked laugh. "I … I've been trying to convince myself I didn't," he tells, "but I'm not sure anymore." We remain quiet after that, until he finally answers my question with an almost inaudible "I don't know."

And I'm not sure what scares me more: Leo willingly taking a life, nor for honor or self preservation, but because it was the easiest, fastest way to solve a personal difficulty; or the fact that he would have done it without his own knowledge.

My brother, the almost perfect killing machine, out of control.

_The End_

**AN:** Yes, you've read something with a similar premise. It is **Heartache** by **Pi90katana** (go read it, if you haven't already). My piece was done almost inmediately after reading hers, and thankfully it was done on paper. I found it last week, fixed some and posted now.


End file.
